


the alexandria that is burning

by rebelbexx



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: But she's trying, Other, Some light angst, bless her, full of chaos, marisa coulter is a bad mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelbexx/pseuds/rebelbexx
Summary: some thoughts mrs coulter has while comforting her daughter in bolvangar
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	the alexandria that is burning

“Lyra!”

The name had ripped from her throat, the flood of fear overriding any thought of decorum, of her careful mask of propriety. Mrs. Coulter still – still – feels a silver of fear as she looks at her daughter, her daughter who came so close to being separated from – well, who came so close to being part of an experiment that is not ready, that’s not complete, that’s not perfect. Her daughter is on the cusp of being an adult, on the cusp of blossoming into – Lyra won’t drink the tea Marisa gives her, the tea her own mother used to make on those rare occasions when she was feeling sympathetic and loving towards the daughter who was too wild, too curious, too smart, too much for her parents ordered, pious, correct life.

Marisa hears herself tell her daughter _I was an emotional child_ I’m told and it both horrifies her and warms her to share that part of herself with someone. The last time she shared any true part of herself, Lyra came hurtling forth, mad and indignant at the world and Marisa had laid dazed and confused and vulnerable on the bed with the screaming baby against her chest and no idea how to move forward. Asriel – Asriel that wild, reckless man who had shaken up her careful, ordered, planned life, had taken the child from her and soothed the baby, something Marisa, the child’s mother, had not been able to do. He knew what to do, he had told her, and she let him because already the storm was gathering. Already Mr. Coulter was putting the pieces together, already there was talk. Already, Marisa knew, if she let it, this would break her. She let Asriel take the child, felt the weight of her leave her chest, just as she felt her leave her body, and, as Asriel left the room Marisa closed that part of herself forever, told herself that she’d never again let anybody do to her, that she’d be the doer. Her monkey daemon had come over, tried to mop the sweat from her forehead but Marisa couldn’t bear the touch and so she had swatted him back. She stood then, laboriously got into the bath, and washed the child away.

Until now, as Lyra sits before her and Marisa has this overwhelming urge to explain. To have Lyra absolve her, as if she’s the one with the power in this room, as if Marisa is a small child again and her mother – but no, she’s the mother and she’s made her tea Lyra won’t drink as if Marisa would poison her, this child that came from her own body that looks so like Asriel. That after she was taken from Marisa, her body continued to weep for her because her own soul couldn’t. This child. She wouldn’t poison her, surely Lyra must know that. She knows who Mrs. Coulter is to her now, she knows Marisa’s secret. Not all of them, but Lyra sees more than most, she saw Marisa’s fear as she shouted out to her, that raw vulnerable place that not even Marisa looks at. Lyra saw.

Marisa convinces her to drink her tea and for the first time feels something maternal stir. Would this have been something they did together? When Lyra was scared in the night or sad about something? Would Marisa have comforted her this way as her own mother did so sparingly? If things were different, if she were different, if Asriel were –would they have been a family? It’s more than Marisa can bear to think of, it’s more than she can bear to hear when Lyra calls her mother but she acknowledges it, she almost chokes on the word but she gets it out _I am your -- mother_ and it hangs between them like the cord connecting Lyra to Marisa in those first few moments before reality came down upon them. And just like then, just like her father, Lyra rips herself away from Marisa and Marisa feels herself scream, the rage and hurt and fear too much and she’s that emotional child again and again and again. She kicks at the door, at the trapped intensity of it. Trapped again by her own feelings, by Asriel, by her child, by it all.


End file.
